


Love is a Canvas

by sssweetdisposition



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sssweetdisposition/pseuds/sssweetdisposition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short little drabble. "Paint me like one of your French girls"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a Canvas

“Clarke” she began, “paint me like one of your French girls”.

 

A giggle escaped from the blonde lazily draped across her body, her warm cheek resting on Lexa’s chest. They were enjoying the silence of their post-coital bliss when the brunette’s soft whispers filled the room.

 

“Like one of my French girls?”

 

Her fingertips gently ran up and down the plain of Clarke’s bared back, feeling the vibrations of her voice under her skin. “Yeah, make me your _muse_ ” she joked, a slight chuckle breaking free from her lips.

 

The blonde suddenly began to untangle herself from the white sheets and the girl lying under her. “Lay on your stomach and I’ll be right back” she directed, quietly padding back and forth around the room.

 

Lexa looked curiously at her girlfriend’s blue eyes but followed the instructions without any questions. Her eyes closed as she waited for Clarke to return, her head resting peacefully on her folded arms. Not much time later, the end of the bed began to dip and she felt a slight weight added to the top of her legs.

 

Clarke had straddled the brunette’s legs and neatly placed the paints on the bed. “Do you trust me?”

 

“Of course” she answered without hesitation. A gentle kiss on her shoulder warmed her back before the sudden cold stroke of what she assumed to be Clarke’s paintbrush touched her skin. The cool paint in contrast to her previously burning skin was welcomed with a satisfied and content sigh as she succumbed to the calm that washed over her.

* * *

 

She woke to the gentle sound of Clarke’s raspy voice in her ear.

 

“Alright Sleepyhead, it’s all done”.

 

“Wait, how am I supposed to see it?”

 

Her phone was handed to her, open at a photo that looked like her back, but was decorated with an abundance of similar colours. She examined the art closely, revelling in the intricate ways which the artist blended the multitude of shades of blue and the creatively incorporated blotch of black. It’s beautiful; the canvas that Lexa’s back has become is too breathtaking for her to stop staring at. “Clarke…” she begins, but nothing else comes out. She has no sure thought of how to convey that in this moment she feels more love than she ever has her entire life.

 

And it’s not the first time Clarke is able to read exactly what the brunette means to communicate. She knows. She can see right through her after all. “I love you too”.


End file.
